The Tracy Problem
by Smileyfax
Summary: Tracy is filth. He's subhumanoid. And finally, in this fic, Tracy will be destroyed in every way a man can be destroyed. Also, the standard AshMisty JesseJames OakDelia rates apply. Cowritten with my good friend Doust19.
1. Chapter 1

"Pikachu! Don't quit now!" Ash urged his longtime yellow companion.

Pikachu's breathing was labored. The electric mouse had caught a germ somewhere, and was quite sick. His spark was almost gone. As Ash comforted Pikachu, Tracy was preparing medicine for Pikachu's consumption. Misty sat by, helpless, as she watched over the events unfolding.

"Don't worry, Ash! This medicine is sure to bring Pikachu back to the prime of health!" Tracy assured his travelling companion. He lowered the dropper into Pikachu's mouth and squeezed the bulb gently, letting several drops fall out.

Pikachu swallowed the drops, and for a moment was still. Then suddenly Ash's first friend began seizuring, screaming at the top of its lungs. "PIKAAAAAAAAAAAAA! PIKAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"PIKACHU!" Ash cried, helpless. The electric mouse began foaming at the mouth. Its eyes bugged out as the seizures intensified. Misty choked back a sob. Tracy was paging through his medical notebooks, desperately searching for an answer before it was too late.

Pikachu's tongue flopped out of its mouth. A second later, an especially intense seizure caused its jaw to slam shut, severing the little tongue and spraying Ash's face with a mist of blood. Ash was openly sobbing and clutching Pikachu close to him now. Tracy threw his notebooks to the side, frustrated. He knew it was too late.

Finally, Pikachu emptied his Poke-bowels onto Ash's lap. The Pokemon was dead.

Suddenly, a smoke grenade went off. Organ music started playing.

"Prepare for trouble!"

"And make it...oooooh."

Jesse and James' speech ground to a halt sooner than usual as their eyes fell upon the fallen Pikachu.

"Uh. I can see this is a bad time," James said lamely.

Team Rocket left quietly, never realizing that the 'twerps' didn't even notice their entry.

"Oh, Pikachu," Meowth sighed. "I wish I had had the chance to tell you...how much I loved you," Meowth lamented.

XXX

Ash looked upon the grave.

'Here lies Pikachu, a free Pokemon'

Tracy was having a heated conversation with Professor Oak over his Pokedex. Finally, Tracy handed the Pokedex to Ash: Oak wanted to speak to him.

"Ash, first, let me tell you how terribly sorry I am for your loss. It nearly destroyed me when my first Pokemon died."

"Thanks, Professor." Ash's voice was a dull monotone, not really caring what words Oak had to say.

"Ash, Tracy killed Pikachu." That shook him out of his malaise.

"What? Why? How?"

"The idiot didn't realize that Pikachu was simply dehydrated. Water with an electrolyte solution would have perked him right up, but the medicine poisoned and killed Pikachu."

The Pokedex slipped from Ash's hands as he turned to face Tracy.

"Ash, I'm really sorry --"

He was cut off as Ash thrust his fist into Tracy's face, breaking his nose.

"OW! Goddabit, Ash, whad the fugh?"

Ash began pummelling Tracy relentlessly, until he was too exhausted to do anything but kneel on the ground and weep. Misty sat next to him and put her arms around him, drawing him close even as she wept again for Pikachu.

"Tracy, you are a worthless piece of shit."

"Bud Ash --"

"Shut up. You have one hour to leave. I never want to see you again. If I do, I'll fucking kill you."

Tracy stared at Ash, mouth agape. Finally, wordlessly, he packed his things and departed.

"What now, Ash?" Misty finally worked up the courage to say.

"I don't know. I'm going back to Pallet for now."

"I'm coming with you."

XXX 


	2. Chapter 2

The musicians tried to play louder to mask the shoddy nature of the log cabin-cum-bar, for it was creaking up a storm in the wind. The tempo louder and faster, the dancer flailed around gracelessly across the wooden stage, trying to stomp over the noise.

When the dancer finally collapsed from exhaustion, Gary began to laugh. He clapped his hands. "Again!" he shouted. "Again!"

With the music done, the full on noise of the log building itself began to insinuate itself on the taverngoers, but considering that the entirety of the patrons were Gary's contingents, and Gary didn't mind, neither did they.

"Please, sir," the bartender pleaded. "It's three hours after we're supposed to close. Our dancer is sick. Please, sir."

"Find another dancer, then," Gary said, throwing more money onto the table.

More important than the money was the vast Blastoise sitting beside the table, viewing the bartender with disdain.

The bartender watched the Blastoise for a moment, and then shouted, "Find another dancer!"

Two men were sent out into the snow for find someone, anyone, who might be hanging around the mountains.

As Gary turned about in his chair to sip from his drink, a cable lowered from the ceiling and slipped around Blastoise's midrift. It pulled tight, and Blastoise uttered a growl of surprise as his feet left the ground.

A few others noticed this -- the strange sight of the bulky pokemon drifting over their heads, and then, with a horrible wrenching sound, the roof caved in under his weight.

Jesse, James and Meowth came tumbling down amidst the racket of lumber.

The bartender cried out, as the snow flew in, flying around what was left of the bar.

Gary was laughing, proclaiming to everyone what entertainment could be had here. The bartender regretted, as he had regretted a hundred times that night, ever insulting Gary's choice of drink.

James lay prone amidst the lumber and said, "Prepare for trouble..."

Jesse's hand could be seen reaching up between the falling wood. "And make it... eh."

"Just not feeling it, are we guys?" Meowth said.

James looked up. "I miss Pikachu!"

"We-" Jesse said, pushing up through the lumber, "- are professionals! You there-!" This to Gary. "Hand over all your pokemon and no one gets hurt!"

"A little late," Meowth said, painfully extracting himself from the lumber.

Gary stared at them, something vicious appearing in his eyes.

Two men entered the bar, dragging along a ragged form. "We found someone! He had lying in the snow, half-dead!"

It was Tracy. He hung from the men's hands.

"Excellent," Gary said. "Get them all into dresses."

"What?" Team Rocket said.

Gary's men manhandled them, forced them backstage. One of them knocked Tracy's face against a mirror when he struggled too much, leaving a dark splotch of the reflective surface.

"If you think I'm getting into _that_ frilly thing, you're mistaken," Jesse snapped, looking at the pink dress they were holding.

"And _mine_ is utterly _shapeless!_" James cried. "Hey, uh, where you taking Meowth?"

But they'd already dragged Meowth out of the room and shut the door.

"Who's this?" Jesse said, prodding the ragged body that lay half-dead on the ground. "Oh. It's that Tracy twerp. What are _you_ doing here?"

Tracy's cracked lips parted. "Water-"

"This is all _your_ fault, James!" Jesse snapped, whirling on him. "This was _your_ idea!"

"What?" Jame shouted. "What? What? What about _him?_ Why can't it be _his_ fault?"

Tracy rolled over and began to hack and cough.

The music begun. Jesse and James went into a little routine, clipping across the stage as snow flew around them. Tracy sort've lay in a little pile on the side. They danced until their legs were sore and sweat poured down their faces despite the cold. Finally, they stood there, panting. The song was done.

"Good," Gary said, sitting at his table. He had Meowth in one hand, a knife in his other. "Do it again."

"_Again?_" Jesse shouted. "Are you out of your mind?"

Gary pressed the knife to Meowth's neck. "Again," he said.

"Fine, cut his throat," she said. "What do I care about him?"

The knife cut skin easily, drawing a tiny bead of blood.

"Everything!" she shouted. "We care _everything_! Fine! We'll do it one more time!"

So the music started again. Halfway through, one of the musicians passed out. This time, Jesse and James did a little tango number, rose in the mouth, the whole deal. They trotted around, Jesse looking hideous in pink, James looking hideous in polka-dots. Below, the bartender was trying to get blankets to everyone, to keep them warm.

The only one who didn't seem to need the blankets was Gary, who only sat there at his table, eyes twinkling.

"There," Jesse said, draped over James, barely able to keep herself up. "There."

"Jesse," James said, draped over Jesse, the two of them supporting themselves. "Oh, I'm far too tired to say anything."

"That was good," Gary said. "Only one problem, so we'll have to do it again."

Jesse's eyes flashed angrily. "A _problem!_ What sort of _problem?_"

"Him," Gary said, pointing to Tracy's prone form. "He didn't dance. Do it again, with him dancing too."

"He can't be serious," James said.

"You can't be serious," Jesse said.

But Gary only stared back, eyes like little candle flames.

Jesse and James plodded over to Tracy and lifted him up. As they got him to his feet, Tracy whispered in a ragged voice, "Pokemon-"

"What?" Jesse hissed. "Where?"

"Back... pocket..."

"You have Pokemon?!" James said loudly. "Oh, well, that's _fantastic!_ Now we can save Meowth!"

Silence, then, through the whole of the bar. "Hum," said Gary, who promptly, slashed Meowth.

Jesse grabbed the Pokeball from Tracy's back pocket and hurled it at Gary. Gary leapt to the side, and the Pokeball bounced off the bartender's head and exploded open.

The Scyther landed, turned and chopped into the bar.

"Stop him!" the bartender shouted, as the Scyther ripped into the wood. "He's destroying everything!"

Blastoise sprang up onto the stage, and went for Jesse and James. A blur of green and Scyther smashed into him, blades going.

"Oh," James said, raising a hand to his mouth, as the blood sprayed up. "Oh, I think I'm going to be sick."

"Never mind that," Jesse snapped. "Grab Meowth. I'll grab Stacie."

"Tracy," Tracy muttered.

James picked up the bloodied form of Meowth and cradled it to his chest. Jesse returned Scyther to the Pokeball, hefted Tracy up over her shoulder, and the two of them raced across the floor in all the confusion, as the rest of the bar came down around them.

Then they were out, running off into the snow, pink and polka-dot shapes.

Gary wrenched lumber off of him, trying to make it to the stage. He found what was left of Blastoise and let out a frustrated cry.

Then, standing there, as snow boiled around him, he said, "Who's Scyther was that?"

One of his men stood up straight and said, "That was Tracy Sketchit's sir."

"I'll kill the bastard."

"Sir, please, ever since you took those evil pills, you've been-"

"I had to, Blaine!" Gary snapped, grabbing the other man's shirt and wrenching him forward, foam frothing at his mouth. "The tournament's soon and I need all the power I can get! Giovanni is counting on this!"

He dropped the man, who fell back into the snow. "I'll find this Tracy Sketchit fuck, and I shall _end_ him."


End file.
